He had
spent the night on duty, had not slept his fill, and was angry.
His luxurious, fan-shaped red beard was crumpled. The right half
of the ruddy face was still crimsonly glowing from lying long on
the uncomfortable oilcloth pillow. But the amazing, vividly blue
eyes, cold and luminous, looked clear and hard, like blue
porcelain. Having ended interrogating, recording, and cursing out
with obscenities the throng of ragamuffins, taken in during the
night for sobering up and now being sent out over their own
districts, he threw himself against the back of the divan, put his
hands behind his neck, and stretched with all his enormous, heroic
body so hard that all his ligaments and joints cracked. He looked
at Lichonin just as at a thing, and asked:
"And what will you have, Mr. Student?"
Lichonin stated his business briefly.
"And so I want," he concluded, to take her to me ... how is this
supposed to be done with you? ... in the capacity of a servant,
or, if you want, a relative, in a word ... how is it done? ..."
"Well, in the capacity of a kept mistress or a wife, let's say,"
indifferently retorted Kerbesh and twirled in his hands a silver
cigar case with monograms and little figures.
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